


the song in your laughter (a melody I chase after)

by Jazer



Series: dismiss your fears [1]
Category: Dr. STONE (Anime), Dr. STONE (Manga)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Asagiri Gen - centric, Character Study, Found Family, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, kinda cuddling at the end, meanings of flowers, mostly - Freeform, pining Gen, the whole thing went from "gen doesn't like alcohol" to this, they also make baskets, y'all think i'm not gonna jump on the sickfic wagon for Gen?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazer/pseuds/Jazer
Summary: Asagiri Gen is five years old only when he first lies.He’s also five when he first gets hit by his Mama.





	the song in your laughter (a melody I chase after)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Sink or Swim, Tyrone Wells
> 
> I pray to God it's not That ooc, but considering it's my first time writing someone Smart and Intelligent and with close to nothing to backstory, it probably is way below the original characterization.
> 
> (I will come back to this, one day, and fix all the timeline mistakes, and all the loopholes, but for now, I had fun writing this and that's all that matters).

Asagiri Gen is five years old when he first lies.

The day is sunny, but the inside of his house is clouded with something cold. _It always is_, Gen remembers thinking, _there are always walls too suffocating, and colors that make you feel like the house is empty. _

It’s always quiet.

Too quiet.

(Quiet is never good – it means trouble, it means—)

Sometimes, Gen sneaks into his mother’s room and digs out the family album – he looks at the pictures of them smiling, he looks at the way the house looks welcoming on the photographs and misses the warmth that it came with.

He likes it – the illusion the pictures gave. They look happy there, for just a moment, for just a second they look like a normal family.

Usually, his mother doesn’t come back home till late, so she never catches him being there.

Until—

Gen hears the click of the door first, then heavy steps coming into the kitchen, slowly making their way upstairs. At first, Gen freezes up, tiny hands gripping the edges of the album, before he snaps into action, jumps up and throws the album somewhere under the bed. Then, he tries to exit the room.

Perhaps, if someone were to ask him how the next thing happened, he’d say it was an accident.

Because technically, he shouldn’t be in his Mama’s room. He shouldn’t be there, at all, because Mama said the place is off limits.

He exits the room, wants to go back to his room and tries to calm his racing heart because – _mama can’t know, mama absolutely cannot find out—_

But his mama is standing in the threshold, and he doesn’t manage to even make a dash for his own room, and she doesn’t ask. She probably doesn’t look for excuses anyways, she probably cares none for why Gen was in her bedroom – she probably doesn’t care that Gen was there only to look through the memories of times he can never get back.

She snarls a question that isn’t really a question he can answer, anyways, with her temper, “The hell you were doing there, you little brat?”

And Gen gets out the, “Cleaning,” before there’s a sharp sound in the hallway, the yell of “don’t lie to me!” with a disgusting smell of alcohol accompanying it.

He’s five years old only when he first lies.

He’s also five when he first gets hit by his Mama.

* * *

  


Gen is a child of woman who is a liar, a cheat and a mistake, and a nameless man he will probably never know, but if someone asks, Gen smiles and says that his mother is the loveliest, most caring woman he has ever known and that his father works abroad for a famous foreign company.

Everyone believes him.

Gen doesn’t get questions like “how are you?” or “do you want to hang out with us?” on a daily basis, because Gen doesn’t have friends, but he’s befriending everyone and everyone knows Asagiri The Magician, but no one knows Asagiri Gen, the fourteen year old boy who just wants someone to pay attention.

Then again, he drops out of school pretty soon as well.

His Mama gets more and more violent as the days pass by. There are times where Gen just doesn’t want to come back home because it doesn’t feel like a safe place anymore. Instead, he hides himself away in the library and busies himself with reading books.

Library, as it turns out, is filled with people Gen recognizes from school. Some of them hide there to browse through their phones, other times there’s someone who confesses their love hidden in the corner. Library is a weird place, because one day Gen could find a normal pair of people learning through reading, and another day he could stumble upon someone trying to rub one out.

He’s not overly impressed with the youth.

One time, he’s sitting with some old, boring chemistry textbook in his lap against one of the bookshelves in the corner of the library, when someone approaches him and crouches in front of him.

At first, he’s dead set on ignoring that someone, but then, there’s a book being waved in front of him and he startles.

“It’s a psychology book,” the boy says with a smile and lets out a sheepish chuckle when Gen narrows his eyes, “I thought you’d like this one.”

“Why would I?” Gen snaps.

A shrug, “You seem like a smart guy.” A pause, then the boy sits down next to him with a sigh, “Asagiri Gen, huh?”

Gen stays quiet.

“My name is Kiyoshi. I’m in the class next to you.”

“Mhm.”

Gen doesn’t know Kiyoshi, not really. Gen sees people, observes them – yet he never gets close enough to get to know them, never moves past that invisible line between accomplices and friends.

He wishes, sometimes, that he’d at least try. The thought is always pushed away to the darkest parts of his mind.

Kiyoshi nudges him, “I’m moving next week, so I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“We’re not friends.” Gen mutters out, but opens the book.

Another quiet laugh, then, “You’re right. I don’t know why, but it just felt right. A spur of a moment decision, I guess.”

Back then, Kiyoshi was just a faceless person Gen remembers meeting.

But then again, back then, everything was just as meaningless as the flowers his mother liked to grow in her garden only to pluck them out of the ground and watch them wither.

* * *

  


At first, Gen tries to stray off the lying bit.

But then it becomes a habit.

His mother snarls and kicks at him, her mouth spiting venom, her nails digging into Gen’s skin and she cries, a lot, she cries until Gen himself feels like crying, and she wails and asks, “Do you love me? Sweetheart, my angel, do you?” and she breaks down into a crying fit again.

Each and every time, Gen answers, “Of course I do,” and with every question it becomes less and less real and truthful.

“Do you love me?”

“Do you think I’m a good mother?”

“I love you so much, I’m so sorry for hurting you. You understand, don’t you, Gen-chan? You understand, right? That mama loves you?”

Sometimes, the questions are asked in a whisper, frail and cracking at every word. Sometimes, they’re yelled at him, in between a slap or two. Sometimes, they’re the unspoken sentences Gen repeats himself over and over again at night.

He says, “I know.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“I think you’re the sweetest mother out there.”

And in the dead of the night, when everything tastes like ash, “I will never leave you, Mama.”

He remembers reading in the psychology book that a lie told enough times becomes the truth.

He wonders, if saying “I’m happy” will ever feel like he’s being honest.

* * *

  


Cheap tricks and magical words are all people need to throw Gen a spare change, and flowery descriptions and fake, cheerful smiles at their deceived faces is what finally makes someone focus on him.

Mama falls for all of those, too. When Gen needs to calm her down and make her throw away the empty bottle in the trash bin, all he needs to do is make her focus on him. Sometimes, it doesn’t work. Sometimes, the bottle is thrown at him.

In the end, it’s the crowds, the whistles at his card tricks, that land him a job at sixteen. In the end, it’s Gen’s stupid visits to library, and youtube tutorials that made his hands agile and fast enough to fool the most observant ones. In the end, it’s Gen and his mind that gets him where he is now. In front of millions of people, doing a show, playing the role of a sorcerer. Media is easily swayed by people like Gen whose second nature is to manipulate and deceive.

If Gen wanted, he’d tell everyone the story in detail – from the first time he successfully lied to his mother’s face, to the first time he played around with manipulation and gathered the attention of many.

If he wanted, Gen could have had it all.

Asagiri Gen, the Magician. Asagiri Gen, the Mentalist. Asagiri Gen – that child of a liar and a nameless man – with ten billion viewers on his show, with published book on his account, and many, many fans all over the world who love him and admire him.

He could tell everyone the story of how his mother spiraled down and drank until she was unconscious; he’d describe in horrible detail how he dragged her body to the bathroom, bathed her and made sure she didn’t choke on her vomit; he’d admit to dedicating himself to psychology and mentalism because he wanted a way to protect himself and tricking people was the only thing Gen was ever decent at; he’d say that all the money he gathered went to his mother’s therapy.

He could. Tell everyone, that is. So they’d know that Asagiri Gen isn’t only a fake magician on a TV.

Maybe, just maybe, someone would understand then. How scared he was every day; how he held his breaths in when his mother slept to hear whether she’s still alive or not; how terrified he was of going home and finding out that she’s either drunk and aggressive or sleeping on the floor with a bottle in her hand.

But he didn’t. He never told anyone.

Because Asagiri Gen is many things; but he’s not an idiot.

And he’d rather be hated for being a shallow man, with shallow needs, than being loved out of pity for his less than good childhood.

* * *

  


There are times where actions speak louder than words and Gen as someone with silver tongue and someone whose playgrounds were always words and their meanings, can admit that yeah, that’s true.

His mother used to scream and shout; she’d whisper and beg for Gen to not leave her for the show business – but in the end, she also kicked and slapped him when she was drunk, and she never hugged him or said she’s proud of him, either.

In show business, you lie through gritted teeth. You shake people’s hands and hand them bouquets of flowers as greeting – all that and polite smile sent their way were a way to get through the day and earn some income.

For Gen, it was natural. Money was always a problem, so he saved a lot of it, even if he did give away most of his for his mother’s therapy.

Money, money, money.

Gen sucks up to those who have it; he uses those who give it; he’s a friend to all those who give away a fortune.

An interviewer asked once, “What made you become a mentalist?”

Gen doesn’t remember the exact answer, he knows the real answer would be that he just wanted to be wanted somewhere, that any kind of attention was good enough and that it just happened to be mentalist work that worked out best.

He does remember laughing and waving his hand around and dodging the question with a simple, “Why wouldn’t I?”

_Why wouldn’t I?,_ he asked back.

He doesn’t know.

He thinks of Mama, in those times, of her begging and clawing at air when she drank too much. He thinks of how it would be, if Mama went and got rid of the alcohol. He remembers then, of her apologies and desperate hugs.

Gen would say that the world of entertainment was a way for him to be noticed; a way to be loved and admired. Because what worth does a person have if they’re not pleasing everyone around them?

But he knows that’s not entirely true. He knows he never did that out of spite, he never did that out of selfish needs, not when he’s spending all his money for a woman who’d rather scream and kick him than to say thank you.

* * *

  


Mama never thanks him for the money and she never goes for the meetings Gen sets her up for. In her eyes, there is icy cloud and sometimes it looks like she’s not seeing him at all, like he’s just a background character in her life.

Therapy doesn’t work – Gen works twice as hard to make sure she’s not somewhere in the ditch, dead.

Show after show; people starting to either love him or are hate him for his shows – Gen isn’t stupid and he knows that even if he makes billions, his Mama will never recover, not if she doesn’t even want to recover.

Even despite that, Gen never stops. _Money is everything_, he thinks.

But it can’t buy him Mama’s love, it can’t make her go and stop drinking, and even though Gen isn’t stupid, he thinks that all this hope and hard work for something that gains no results just makes him a fool.

* * *

  


Tsukasa is the Marxist in the making and for some reason it doesn’t sit right with Gen like he pretends it does.

The less work the better; the more young people, the better; the simpler the life, the greater the results will be, the purer the world will become.

“That person’s world,” Tsukasa begins sometime after Gen gets revived, “is tainted with adults’ greed and doesn’t promise a bright future for younger generations, don’t you agree, Gen?”

Gen tilts his head and smiles, “Of course, I do, Tsukasa-chan,” and he leans against his shoulder, nudging him with a familiarity he knows is left for friends, “What world do people as rotten as adults promise for us, the brilliant youth?”

Tsukasa shakes him off, “Don’t lean on me like that.”

“Why?” Gen whines, but backs off, successful, “Aren’t I your greatest ally?”

“You’re certainly a valuable member.” Tsukasa allows.

Physical contact makes most people uncomfortable, but it you connect it with a change of topic and playful words, you get the perfect way to distract someone from their original conversation. Sometimes, Gen is really glad he doesn’t need to bother to read people at this point, it all just comes naturally.

When the night falls and Gen is left alone, he thinks.

Because while Tsukasa does have a point, somewhere, Gen even with his own knowledge, even with his nineteen years of experience in the show business that shows how disgusting adults can become, he can’t agree that the only way to stop them is to leave them to their deaths.

If that were the case, science as it stands, would never progress. The world would stop in the stone age.

_Killing in the name of a good cause,_ is what Tsukasa called it earlier as well, _they’re just pieces of stones as of now. _

Gen stares into the dark sky, leaning against the rock.

A world with no classes, no social standings – if that were to happen, if Tsukasa were to succeed, who would the Asagiri Gen, build on money and raised in hate and stench of alcohol, be?

* * *

  


The answer is: nothing really.

In the stone world, it works like going to the new school in the neighboring town, where no one knows who you are and who you’re going to be, and you end up building your personality and reputation again and again.

You get the clean slate, to put it simply.

Gen doesn’t make any effort to try and drop the façade, though. In fact, he tries his hardest to keep it up all the time, because losing his hard-worked reputation means subjecting yourself to new pain and possible betrayal and Gen isn’t that stupid.

He does change sides for a bottle of cola, yes, but he’s an idiot, not a total dumbass.

(And that cola was really good. For a stone world, that is.)

The Kingdom of Science is, for the lack of better word, weird. With a girl twice as strong as Gen, rock obsessed villager and two simpleton brothers, a kid with a melon mask and an old man who is surprisingly muscled, the team Senkuu build up is impressive, yes, but also really, really weird.

And kind.

When Gen made the decision to stick with them instead of the Empire of Tsukasa, he didn’t really account for them to be just so ready to accept him into their ranks and start including him in everything.

Old man Kaseki, is what they called the craftsman, treats him like—

Like—

“He’s taken liking to you, eh?” Chrome speaks up, happily sorting his new-found rocks into piles. Gen is both impressed and slightly horrified that someone handles compacted minerals with such care, “Kaseki, I mean.”

Gen forces an awkward smile on his face, sitting cross-legged next to Chrome, “Is that so? I didn’t notice. You’re—“

“I bet it’s because you always help him when he asks,” Chrome continues, as if not even hearing Gen say anything, “It’s been a while since he had someone like you around.”

Gen waves it off, “I’m sure there’s a lot of people around that help him, Chrome-chan.”

“Yeah, sure.”

His eye twitches, “I’m not special.”

“Of course not!” Chrome adds another ten rocks to a pile, muttering under his breath, “I’m just saying that you may be another one of the kids he’s just taken under his wing, that’s all. That’s what he did with Suika, after all.”

Gen stares.

“I’m nineteen,” Gen protests, “Not a kid. He can’t just—“ He cuts himself off when Chrome suddenly perks up and looks at him, that same annoying grin he wore that day before Gen got stabbed, and Gen switches his slightly annoyed expression to a careless smile, “Never mind, never mind~”

There’s a beat of silence and Gen fights to not shift in his place. Then, Chrome shrugs, “You’re a kid in his eyes, you know? I think he considers all of us his kids, too. He’s just too tough to admit that, that old man Kaseki.”

It’s almost as if, Gen finishes his thought from before, the man saw him as his own family.

He wonders why the thought doesn’t sting but makes something warm spread all over his chest.

Weird, the bunch of them.

* * *

  


_It’s not like the village doesn’t like Suika_, Gen concluded watching the little girl run around the houses, eager to please and so, so full of energy, _it’s that they don’t know how to deal with her. _

He heard of the stories – of how Senkuu made her the glasses, and he heard of the way her life was before that happened, how she thought of herself as useless and unimportant – and in a way, he can probably understand. People don’t like to deal with the weak. People would rather be surrounded by the strong, because that’s just easier.

And the growth of a one little, nearsighted girl doesn’t ever take a priority.

Even now, with improved sight and more accuracy, Suika can’t seem to fit herself in the village. Gen doesn’t think much of it, that’s not his problem – but then, she just sulks over to where he’s sitting in the grass, playing with flowers and he just can’t help it.

“What’s the matter, Suika-chan?” He speaks up, not looking at her.

Suika stays quiet. Gen hums, “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.” He tells her, his tone a little softer than it usually is when he’s speaking with other villagers, “Didn’t Senkuu-chan need some help over there?”

Finally, Suika mumbles, “He said it’s too dangerous for me.”

Gen glances at her from the corner of his eyes. She’s sitting seiza style picking at the grass, head bowed and eyes probably not even focused on what’s around her, with hunched shoulders and Gen thinks_, ah_. _She’s feeling like that again._

He looks over to where he knows Senkuu is standing with Chrome, then smiles over at Suika, “He doesn’t mean any offense, Suika-chan,” he sing-tones, “Our Senku-chan is just a real worry-wart, sweetheart, and he doesn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Then, because he senses Suika wanting to protest, he waves his hand and makes an effort to look really bothered, “I’m not really allowed to do any science stuff with them, either, you know?~”

As expected, Suika’s head perks up, “Really?”

_Bingo!_

Gen nods his head, solemn, “In my age, I even blew up the chemistry lab on accident! It was tewwible, Suika-chan! And now, no one trusts me to do the job properly, oh poor me, but!” he quickly cuts in, lifting up what he was working on for her to see, “I’m very good at flower crowns.”

Suika gasps, “So pretty!”

“Mhm,” Gen watches as she crawled closer to see better, “So you see, I leave the hard, dangerous science stuff for our dear Senkuu-chan and Chrome-chan, and busy myself with this. I will have you know, Suika-chan, that none of our smart friends would be able to make them.”

“Impossible,” Suika whispers, “And you can?”

“You see, for a really pretty crown to be made, you have to have slender, tiny hands, see?” He shows her the way he ties it at the end, “It’s a delicate work, if you’re using only flowers. In my day, we used tape and wires.”

There’s a beat of silence as Gen works on adding more leaves to his crown, before Suika speaks up again, “Then… does that mean I can do it, too?”

Gen grins, “Go gather some of the flowers and I will teach you.”

At the end of the day, Suika manages pretty well, her hands are perfect for this kind of job, and there are at least five different flower crowns laying around, before she decides to gift them to everyone. When Kohaku gets her own, she gasps, leaning down so Suika can put it on her head.

“It’s amazing, Suika!” She gushes.

Suika beams at her. Gen huffs a laugh.

* * *

  


Gen isn’t total idiot, he knows how most of the stuff is made. He’s nowhere Senkuu’s or even Chrome’s level, but he does get the basics.

So when he gets everyone to build the damn telescope, he feels pretty damn proud of himself. Adding on the, “I’m sure you can fine tune it yourself if we screwed up,” is also a safety hack Gen knows isn’t really important, judging by the look on Senkuu’s face, but hey. Never hurts to try and warn a person.

Then again, Senkuu does deserve it.

It’s not like Gen is doing it out of goodness of his heart, it’s just more convenient to get a smart one on your side and bribe them before they can try and betray you first. The fact that Senkuu already helped many in the village gave Gen the advantage of already having the manpower he needed.

(Maybe he’s been just a little too attentive to the way Senkuu’s eyes lit up, and maybe, just maybe, Gen committed his smile into his memory—)

Birthdays were never a big deal in Gen’s household. He never celebrated his, either, but he knows that if you grew up in a loving, caring family, chances of never throwing a birthday party are slim if not a complete zero.

Because birthdays are there for people to celebrate other’s existence. Because that’s one day in the entire year where someone is the most important.

Gen is not the main character in this story, he knows, but sometimes, he wishes he could feel the same as Senkuu – on that one day, he’d like to feel like someone actually cares for him.

* * *

  


Nights are scary, is what younger Gen thought. They are lonely, cold and unwelcome. Nights are dark and they hide things Gen wishes he never had to know about. Nights were for Gen the worst part in his life, first being busy with checking on his mother’s drunken state, then dedicated studies because even though Gen didn’t finish high school, he still wanted to learn.

There’s just something about today’s evening that sets every other night apart.

And—

“Oi, Gen,” Chrome’s voice breaks through the haze in Gen’s mind, “Are you not hungry?”

Truth be told, Gen is, really. He looks down at the bowl of ramen in his lap, illuminated by the fireplace they lit up next to Chrome’s hut, and thinks that he could probably eat dozens of bowls like that and still feel cold.

He waves his hand and pretends to not see the way Senkuu lifts his eyes from his own bowl to look at him, “I am, I am. I was just lost in thought, pay me no mind, dear Chrome.”

Chrome tilts his head, “You’ve been spacing out a lot lately, though.”

Gen’s smile becomes a little more forced, “Is that so? I apologize. It’s a mentalist’s job to keep an eye on everyone, so I’ve been just busy cataloguing everything in my mind.” Then, with an enthusiasm, he digs into the ramen and it seems that it’s all it takes to take Chrome off the topic.

Suika, however, is still looking at him, that innocent curiosity blinding even though her eyes are technically hidden by the melon. Gen sends her a smile and pats her head, “Nothing to worry, Suika-chan. Eat before it gets cold.”

She’s not easily fooled, “Do you want to go to sleep, Gen?”

Gen’s smile doesn’t slip but it’s a close thing. He doesn’t want to sleep at all, to be honest. He thinks his sleep troubles came back, even though he’s been praying that somehow, the petrification got rid of them.

“Of course not,” and he goes back to his bowl, “Suika-chan, I think—“

“Honestly,” Kohaku suddenly throws in, “If you’re tired, just go to your hut.”

Chrome nods, “Yeah! You don’t have to sit here with us if you’re so exhausted. It’s been a long day.”

Gen’s eye twitches. “I just told you—“

“Cut the mentalist some slack,” Senkuu interrupts, “He’s daydreaming about his harem again, nothing too deep and nothing to think more about.”

Gen lets out a breath of relief as Kohaku’s face twists into a grimace and she mutters something about ‘perverts in every era’ and Chrome laughs awkwardly when Suika once again asks what’s the ‘harem’ they’re all talking about.

The conversation steers clear of him and he slumps his shoulders.

He finishes his ramen soon after, wrapping his arms more around himself and wishes for the comfort of his big, fluffy hoodies back in the past (future?), and the times where he didn’t need to hug himself for warmth. And it’s not like it’s freezing, either, it’s just that Gen always had trouble with warming himself up.

And that night, he thinks that even if it’s nice, sitting with others and eating, that the whole situation doesn’t save him from the cold of his bones and the chilly breeze that passes by from time to time. He tries to remember if his mother ever did something with it; he tries to remember if he ever told her.

Then he thinks that, ah. She never cared enough, did she? And Gen never bothered her with that either.

Gen smiles bitterly to himself.

Then again, it was always Gen taking care of her and not the other way around, isn’t it?

* * *

  


The thing in this stone world is that if you get sick, there’s no medicine you can take and if you get really ill, it’s basically game over. That’s what Tsukasa said when he scolded everyone in his Empire back when Gen was still on his side. So his men were bungled up with thick animal skins while Gen had to settle for the thinner materials.

He thinks it’s his own fault that he got sick this time.

He’s weak and prone to feeling under the weather, that’s just how he was born. Back then he managed to avoid being in bed all the time by literally throwing every piece of clothing on himself, and never, never exposing himself to cold air longer than he should.

He could have taken care of himself more.

“Geez,” he mumbles to himself, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes, “Damn it.”

There are tell-tales of headache coming, and Gen wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’s also got a fever. His clothes are sticking to his skin and he thinks he lost the ability to tell apart the day from the night.

He rests his head on his knees and breathes. If he gets up, he’s certain he will be able to get through the day, but he wonders if risking infecting others from the village is worth it. He doesn’t remember anyone mentioning needing his help or having some kind of event going on, so even if he stays inside there’s a high probability that he won’t miss anything important.

It’s better this way, he thinks when he decides to give in to the tiredness, it won’t bother anyone—

“Gen!”

He stills.

“Gen, Gen, look!” There’s no mistake. It’s Suika’s excited voice, getting closer and closer, “I found a really pretty—oh.”

Gen stares at her, wide-eyed as she lets in the morning light in and tilts her head at him. There’s silence, as if both of them were rendered speechless.

“I’m fine,” Gen blurts out and Suika takes a step back, “Suika-chan, really—!” and he coughs.

That cough seems to be what snapped Suika into action, because the girl doesn’t look panicked anymore, she looks determined as she holds her head up and declares in a voice that Gen would have called cute and proud if he wasn’t having a crisis, “I will get help! Don’t worry, Gen!”

“No, I’m—“ he trails off, hand coming up to his throat, “Suika-chan, it’s okay—“

But Suika’s not there anymore, and the entrance gets covered with the cloth again.

“Shit.”

* * *

  


Suika does get help. Gen, however, can’t stop thinking about the fact that Suika’s idea of help is bringing confused Senkuu into Gen’s hut when it’s literally the last thing Gen wanted to happen. In a poor attempt to look normal, Gen covers himself with a blanket.

“Alright,” Senkuu starts, looking around. Suika shifts on her feet, impatient, “I give. What’s up with you both?”

“Nothing—“ Gen tries to say, but Suika jumps up and tugs at Senkuu’s clothes to bring him closer.

“Gen isn’t feeling well!” She exclaims and it seems that those words alone are what makes her panic again and she starts talking faster and more chaotically, “He even coughs. Like Ruri-nee, and his voice is weird and—“

Senkuu’s eyes snap to Gen. Gen holds up his hands, looking innocently at him, “I have no idea what she’s talking about, Senku-chan~ Really, now. There’s no need to—“

“I saw it!” Suika cries out. “Don’t lie!”

Gen’s mouth snaps shut and he looks away. There’s a beat of silence as Suika tries to get Senkuu to respond, tugging until Senkuu finally moves. Perhaps it’s the mess in his head, perhaps Gen is just tired, but he flinches when Senkuu’s hand moves towards his head.

Suika timidly asks, “Is he dying?”

Gen doesn’t move, but he manages to choke out a, “Don’t be ridiculous, Suika-chan. I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. Right, Senkuu-chan?”

Senkuu, for his part, only narrows his eyes at him, knowing that the mentalist is most likely using the fact that Suika is a child and there’s no need to tell her the truth, before waving a hand at her, “He’s fine. Go fetch Kohaku, though. I’ll need a couple of things.”

Suika perks up, like she always does when she can be useful, and disappears again. When she’s out of earshot, Senkuu turns to Gen subtly trying to move away, “Stay where you are, Mentalist. I have to check your temperature.”

Gen blinks, “With what?”

“My hand?” Senkuu gives him a weird look, “Are you stupid?”

_No_, is what Gen ends up thinking as Senkuu places a hand over his forehead, _just mildly delusional_. The cold skin makes him unconsciously lean into the contact, eyes closing. It’s so pleasant. Once again, there’s static in his mind. He wonders briefly, if someone ever checked his temperature like this.

Did his Mama ever—?

“You’re burning up,” Senkuu concludes, eyes drifting lower, “No wonder you got sick. Don’t you have something warmer?”

Gen blinks, trying to clear the fog from his eyes, “Huh?”

“The blankets, idiot. Why are they so thin?”

“I don’t have… any other ones?” Then, he shakes his head, leaning back from Senkuu as he rubs a hand on his face, “Careful, I will think you care about me, and that’s pretty gross, isn’t it? Senku-chan.”

“You’re gross.”

Gen cracks a smile, “You’re so cruel~”

A sigh, then, “I’m pretty sure if you asked someone from the village, they’d be happy to make you a thicker blanket. You must have been freezing out here.”

“Not really,” Gen mumbles, “I’m always cold, anyways.”

There’s a glint of something in Senkuu’s eyes, one that Gen wishes he could recognize and catalogue. It lasts for a second too short, before Gen winces and tries to lay down, arm over his eyes. Everything is painful as he tries to maneuver himself carefully.

He shuts his eyes.

After what feels like forever, Kohaku appears in the hut with a, “Is he dying again?” to which Gen snappishly says that, “No, I’m not!”

Senkuu sounds exasperated, “He sure looks like is.” Then, he gets up, “Watch over him. With your gorilla health you’re the least likely to get sick.”

Kohaku nods, a protest to the nickname dying on her lips when she notices Gen curling up on himself even more. Then, she asks, “What will you do?”

“Craft some medicine.” Is the last thing Gen hears before keeping himself awake becomes too much and he falls asleep.

* * *

  


Gen doesn’t know how long he sleeps.

He does know that he woke up at least three times, and every single time he remembers close to nothing what happened next. He can recall Kohaku’s face, the way she leaned over him. He knows she also used a wet cloth on his forehead and he felt it when she changed it. But there are no words that registered in his head.

He does know that he’s dreamed. A lot. He knows that in the back of his mind he can hear the glass bottles shattering on the ground; can hear the yells and the ugly words; he thinks that he can even feel the way his Mama’s fingers _dig_ into his scalp and _pull—_

By the time he’s conscious enough to make out something out of the noise around him, he’s bathed in sweat. He shouldn’t be surprised by his poor immunity system, either, seeing as when he gets sick – it’s always bad. It’s never the mild a cold people get, it’s always bad enough for Gen that he can’t even bring himself to put on the composed façade he worked so hard to achieve.

Maybe that’s the part that scared him the most. Not the thought of dying from common a cold in stone world, but letting himself be vulnerable to people around him.

_You can’t let them know,_ he repeats in his head, _they can’t know, they can’t—_

“Sleeping beauty finally awakens, huh?” is the first thing Gen hears when he opens his eyes this time, and he flinches away when he notices how bright it is around him.

“No,” he mutters out, but it’s barely audible, “Go away.”

It hurts to speak. It hurts to see.

Gen mourns over those facts, but he’s grateful for at least being able to breathe normally for the time being.

“No can do, Mentalist,” is a cheerful reply as someone gets closer and puts their hand on his forehead, “You’re about to be the first human to try out the stone world edition medicine for a cold.”

Gen fights to keep his eyes open, resigned when he sees how excited Senkuu is, “I’m your lab rat, then?”

There’s a huff, then he feels Kohaku’s hands on his back (Was she there the whole time?), helping him sit up. Gen shivers when his blanket slips down a little. “You won’t die from this, don’t worry.”

Gen doesn’t answer, but he stares at the liquid he’s presented with and eyes it suspiciously. Despite that, he takes it and pretends to not see the way his hands shake at that small movement.

“Take about one sip,” Senkuu says, then when Gen gives him a look, adds, “It’s really not a poison.”

Gen gulps it down with a grimace. He misses the old solid tablets you could take for a fever and didn’t have to suffer through the awful taste.

“You’re really lucky, though,” Senkuu speaks when Gen makes a move to lay back down, “If Suika didn’t get me you would most likely die.”

Kohaku nods, “You shouldn’t treat a fever so lightly, Gen. Why didn’t you come and say something?”

Gen stays quiet and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to answer – he doesn’t want anyone to know that he realized what the consequences of being sick in a stone world are, that even the little cut on a finger could be deadly. Kohaku, out of everyone, must have known what the real world now is – she’s probably saw people die of a something really simple many times more than Gen or Senkuu did.

“Gen?” Kohaku brushes hair out of his face and wets the cloth again.

Don’t let them know you’re weak, is what younger Gen would tell himself, keep it under wraps and hide it away.

But Kohaku’s touch is so soothing and Gen blames it on his feverish state, but he kind of likes being taken care of like this, feeling needed. Are they even friends? If they aren’t, would Kohaku watch over him even if Senkuu told her too?

Gen’s head is hurting.

Would any of them do anything of that sort if they wanted Gen gone?

But Gen— Gen is—

“It wouldn’t be good to get any of you sick, Kohaku-chan,” is what Gen settles for, “I thought that would pass.” And to regain at least some of his dignity, “And I knew Senkuu-chan would save me if it got bad. So I was not worried at all~”

“You’re full of shit,” Senkuu comments dryly, “Literally. How dumb can a mentalist like you get?”

Gen covers his face with his arm, “You’re not allowed to get mad at the sick man, Senkuu-chan,” Gen whines, “Don’t yell at me, either.”

“I’m not—“ Senkuu cuts himself off, then swipes through his hair. Gen can’t help but notice that even pissed, Senkuu doesn’t want to get into unnecessary fights. “Ah, the heck. You’re so troublesome I could die. Kohaku,” he turns to her, “get some clean clothes for the idiot here, alright?”

“Sure,” is what she says, before leaning down as if to take the wet cloth again, only to whisper directly into Gen’s ear, “Get your act together, will you?”

Gen manages a weak, confused glare at her before she gets up and leaves both of them alone. Ready to accept going back to sleep again, Gen snuggles more into the blanket, only to be interrupted and get it snatched.

“You’re taking a nice bath,” Senkuu announces, merciless to Gen’s shivering, “Get up and strip. Kohaku brought in the water earlier.”

Gen stares at him, uncomprehending.

“Huh?”

Senkuu glances at him as he puts away the poor excuse of a blanket away, then raises an eyebrow, “Do I need to help you?” 

“Are you secretly a pervert, Senkuu-chan?” He asks, nervously, “You’re just going to sit there and stare as I bathe?”

“Does that bother you?”

Gen blinks, “Doesn’t it bother you?” He slowly gets up, swaying a little, “I thought you’re—“

He cuts himself off.

What did he thought, exactly?

“Well,” Senkuu continues, slowly, “I’m just going to make sure you don’t faint in the middle. You’re the one with harem fantasies.”

Gen snaps to reality, “Ah.”

“What did you thought I wanted to do?”

“I—“ He starts, then trails off. What did he really think would happen? With something clouding his mind, he’s not sure of anything.

It sets him on edge. Not knowing. Being vulnerable. Not being able to keep track of what’s happening around him. Being sick is one thing when you’re alone, and another thing when you’re at somebody’s else mercy.

“Nothing,” he says, resigned but still throwing a cheerful look at him, “Nothing at all, Senkuu-chan. Now, if you insist on seeing me naked, I suppose I have no choice—“ he ends up weakly laughing when Senkuu turns his back on him and covers his ears, annoyed expression on his face.

“For information, it’s just so your fever goes down faster,” Senkuu is saying, “And for you to not smell like you ran a marathon.”

_It’s so easy,_ Gen muses to himself, _for me to get happier just by seeing him like this, caring_.

He shakes his head and gets into bath, quickly washing himself off. The slightly warm water is soothing, before it becomes unbearable for his headache and he slips out of it and dries himself off. By the time he’s done, there are fresh clothes waiting for him and—

_Oh._

“Chrome brought it in,” Senkuu explains as Gen stares at the new, thick blanket, “He said you should’ve asked earlier since he had couple spares, anyways.”

Gen waves his hand, “Nah, I was fine with my—“

“Didn’t you say you get cold easily?” Senkuu interrupts, looking over his shoulder. Gen gulps at the piercing gaze and only manages a shrug.

“I did?” Gen feigns a surprise, “Maybe you misunderstood.”

“I’m ten billion procent sure that I didn’t,” he shoots back, but Gen isn’t listening anymore, crawling under the safety and warmth of the blanket, sighing when he feels the medicine Senkuu gave him finally start working and the headache somewhat becoming less unbearable, “Oi, are you listening?”

“Mhm. Sure.”

Senkuu deadpans at him, “You’re totally out of it. Do you always get like this when you’re sick?”

Gen tenses up, before remembering that, ah, Senkuu knows close to nothing about him. All the knowledge he has is about Asagiri Gen, the Magician who writes “trashy books”, and not the Gen of the stone world.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. If Senkuu knew how emotionally constipated Gen was despite being expert in psychology, then it would all be different. He’d lose any kind of—

“Are you mad at me, Senkuu-chan?” He changes the topic and slowly opens his eyes to see Senkuu irritated expression, “I’m pretty sure that even if, by any chance, I would die the Kingdom of Science wouldn’t suffer through any significant damage. You’ve got a really reliable team now.”

Instead of lightening the mood, it seems that the answer irked the scientist even more. Gen covers his head with his arm and mentally groans. Leave it to a common cold to leave Gen totally defenseless and useless in his own field.

“How stupid can a mentalist like you get?” Senkuu finally asks.

Gen snorts, “That’s the second time you’ve asked me that, you know.”

“I think you’re forgetting the fact that without you the Kingdom of Science wouldn’t have as many things as it has now,” Senkuu leans forwards a bit, but Gen’s face stubbornly remains covered up, “You’re one of our more valuable assets in the team. Stop undervaluing yourself, it’s not like you at all.”

“Maybe,” Gen sighs, “You’re probably right, Senkuu-chan.”

There’s a beat of silence, then another sigh and finally, “There’s just no getting through to you, huh?”

Gen huffs to himself.

“I wouldn’t be a Mentalist if I was easily convinced by you, Senkuu-chan.” He closes his eyes and drops his hand, “I don’t even know if I’m cold or hot anymore.”

“Just sleep it off.”

Gen almost laughs, “If only that were so—“

Easy, he wants to say.

There’s a lot of things Gen would have liked to say, actually. But most of the time he holds back and covers it up with something entirely different and sugar-coated. _Don’t let them know who you really are_, said someone in a book, _because then, they can use it against you. _

Gen knows it.

He wishes he didn’t. He wishes he could just let himself slip.

“If you can’t sleep, it would be for the best if you ate something,” Senkuu brings him out of his thoughts, completely unbothered about the unfinished sentence, “Kohaku brought soup for me a while ago, but it’s still warm.”

“I—“ He cuts himself off, when Senkuu throws him a look saying that ‘no, you actually can’t bring the I-don’t-want-to-eat-your-food card’, “Alright. If you insist. Will you spoon feed me, too, Senkuu-chan?”

The disgusted look is all Gen gets as the bowl is passed to him after he makes an effort to sit up again. He starts eating, only to realize that he was starving and he ends up shoveling the broth down his throat instead of eating like normal, civilized person.

“You know,” Senkuu begins, not hesitant at all, because when has he ever been anything but bold? “Sometimes, you annoy the hell out of me with you fake-ass magician tricks—“

Gen narrows his eyes.

“—but you’re not so bad, Asagiri Gen.”

With spoon halfway to his mouth, Gen raises an eyebrow, “I sure hope so, after making use of my skills for your Kingdom of Science.” Then, “But then, you never know. I could have been being all nice and helpful to you the whole time to make you trust me, only to one day go and slit your throat,” he puts down the wooden spoon back into the bowl with a bitter smile, “That’s what mentalists do, Senkuu-chan. They manipulate and cheat their way through the system.”

“Are you saying I’m too naïve?”

“You certainly aren’t careful enough, Senkuu-chan,” Gen says.

“Like you?”

The smile stays frozen on his face as he huffs, “Did you take interest in playing tricks? You tried that the first time, too. It didn’t work on a mentalist like me and it won’t now.”

“Except,” Senkuu leans forwards and Gen fights with every fiber of his being to not flinch away, “I don’t need tricks to get through to people. I have science.”

“What good will science do you if somebody decides you’re just in a way and tries to kill you?” Gen shoots back as Senkuu narrows his eyes, “Science does nothing if—“

“If—?”

_If someone decides to hurt you,_ gets stuck in his throat and Gen forces himself to not react to the obvious bait.

_You’re better than this,_ he thinks, _don’t get riled up, don’t show—_

“In any case,” he puts away the bowl, if only to have an excuse to not look at him, “If you’re looking to manipulate me into talking, then I will have you know that you have to work on your skills.”

“As I said before,” Senkuu crosses his arms, “I don’t use tricks to make people talk. I just talk with them. Like a normal person.”

“Nice,” Gen comments.

“And just because I’m not a mentalist like you,” Senkuu tilts his head, “Doesn’t mean I don’t notice some of the things you do. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out some stuff, either.”

“Again. That’s very nice, Senkuu-chan—“

“So if you think you can fool me into believing you’re a genuinely bad person by trying to push me away with your whole ‘I can go and slit you throat, because you’re so naïve’” here, he tries to mimic Gen’s voice, before he points a finger at him, “then I got some bad news for you.”

“Senkuu-cha—“

“So could another person in the village,” Gen shuts up. Senkuu continues, “So could a dog. So could a _dedicated duck_. You’re not special, Gen.”

Maybe he really is sick, if it’s Senkuu telling him about the possibility of a duck being able to kill anyone.

“I’m going to sleep,” Gen announces.

Senkuu watches him as he turns away and tucks himself in the blanket, “Are you really backing away from the argument? Really? Asagiri Gen, you’re giving up?”

The mocking tone of his voice makes Gen grit his teeth, “There’s just no arguing with you—“

“So you admit I’m right and you’re being unreasonably paranoid.”

“No,” Gen huffs, “I’m admitting that I can’t win with you. As of now. And I’m sick, you’re taking advantage of that to push your—your…”

“Yes?”

Gen purses his lips, “Scientific propaganda.”

There’s a beat of silence, “Ah. The fever must be really bad if you just used a ‘scientific propaganda’ in a serious sentence. Nevermind then, you should go and sleep it off.”

Gen closes his eyes, “I will get back to that argument.”

“Sure you will, Mentalist,” Senkuu huffs a laugh, and his hand lightly brushes over Gen’s hair, “I’m waiting for you to crush my ‘scientific propaganda’.”

* * *

  


Suika comes to visit him once Senkuu deems him not contagious anymore and insists on showing him all the flowers she found wandering in the forest.

Gen is charmed, to say the least.

“That one is called a tulip,” Gen finds himself saying, making an effort to stay sitting as Suika crawls even closer and he points to the color, “And in our times, yellow tulips usually meant hopeless love. Though, it evolved slowly into, hmm, what was it again? Ah yes, cheerful thoughts.”

Suika gasps in awe, “What if it’s red? Shouldn’t red represent love more?”

Gen puts his finger to his chin, “Mhm, you’re right. Red means ‘true love’.” He peeks into her wicker basket, “You even have some here.”

“They’re very pretty,” Suika comments, “Do you know all the flowers?”

Gen lets out a sheepish chuckle, “Ah ha, most of them.”

“Can you tell me about them?” She asks, eager. “And what they mean? I—“

“Oi, Suika,” there’s another voice just as Kohaku comes into the view, “He’s still sick. He shouldn’t strain himself so much.”

Gen sends Suika an apologetic smile when her shoulder slump, “After Senkuu-chan’s amazing treatment I can tell you about all sorts of flowers,” he leans forward as if to whisper. Kohaku raises an eyebrow, setting a bowl next to him, “Tell you what, Suika-chan, once I’m all cured we can even make more flower crowns but this time, I will explain what each flower means. Deal?”

“Yes!”

He lifts up his hand and lets her high five it, “Now run along before Kohaku-chan decides to use her gorilla—“

“Gen.” Kohaku growls out.

“Eep! Run while you still can, Suika-chan. She’s ready to—“

“Suika, just go before I murder this man,” Kohaku plays with her knife and Gen lets out a ‘heh’ with a big grin, “Seriously. Do you live off annoying people?”

Eyes watching as Suika runs off, giggling, Gen shrugs unbothered, “I live off making people laugh, actually. I’m pretty good.”

“Really?” Kohaku’s voice screams doubtful.

“Really. Kohaku-chan, you don’t believe me?” He lays down, dramatically sighing, “That’s awful that even Kohaku-chan doesn’t believe me. Truly, I’m hurt.”

There’s silence as Kohaku busies herself picking up stray objects and putting them in place and Gen eats the broth she brought. His fever went down quite a bit last night, and his head is a lot clearer than it was, but the cold is still clinging to his body. He’s grateful that his thin blanket got replaced with the extra thick one, now.

It doesn’t seem like Kohaku is going away any time soon, Gen concludes. In fact, once she’s done cleaning up she makes herself comfortable on the other side of the hut, watching Gen.

“Senkuu-chan put you on the watch duty?” Gen asks, casually sipping the soup.

Kohaku doesn’t answer, but then, “Say, Gen, what made you become that menta—menta—?”

“Mentalist?”

“Yeah,” Kohaku tilts her head, but Gen focuses on blowing on the hot liquid instead, “You know, when you had the fever, you were really out of it for a while.”

Gen stills, “Is that so?”

He kind of hates how Kohaku picks on the smallest details with her eagle eye, because it makes it downright almost impossible to hide his reactions. Thousands of years in the stone made him rusty.

“You kept,” she pauses to find a better wording, “mumbling about someone.”

Gen’s hand absolutely doesn’t shake at that.

“It was most likely a fever dream, Kohaku-chan,” he explains, “They’re often really vivid and weird, because the fever disturbs the—“ at Kohaku’s deadpan gaze, Gen trails off, “I guess you wouldn’t be interested in hearing about it.”

“No,” Kohaku agrees, “I’m not.”

“Thought so.”

“You didn’t say their name,” Kohaku continues, and Gen hums, “But at one point it was really bad, because you kept tossing and turning. Senkuu said it was most likely a nightmare—“

“Senkuu-chan was there?”

“—but I never saw anyone look so terrified in their sleep.” Gen doesn’t dare to move, smile stuck to his face, frozen and faked, “Was that person, whoever they are, someone close to you?”

“Are you asking if they’re the reason I became the mentalist, Kohaku-chan? I must say I didn’t expect you to be interested in my life choices, really.”

“I’m not. But despite you being,” she wrinkles her nose, “your usual self, it was somewhat disturbing seeing you like this.”

“It was probably just a fever dream,” Gen answers and puts away the bowl, not feeling hungry anymore, “I became a mentalist because that’s just what suited me the most. Manipulating people, tricking them – it all comes with this field. Don’t try to read too much into it, Kohaku-chan,” Gen tries for his signature smile, “I’m still the same shallow man you’ve met back then.”

Kohaku stays silent for a minute. Then, “I don’t believe that.”

“Believe what you may,” Gen shoots back, “l’m not like you or Senkuu-chan. I don’t believe in kindness and goodwill. I’ve never been honest in my whole life. The fact that I changed sides for a single bottle of cola just proves how superficial my needs are.”

“And yet,” Kohaku murmurs to herself when Gen turns around, “you still promised to teach Suika about meanings of flowers.”

“As I said,” Gen stubbornly says, “I could be doing all this for my own profit and you all wouldn’t even know. Don’t try to—“

“Get to know you?” Kohaku finally smiles and Gen blinks, “Try to be friends? See what’s under that shell you wear all the time?”

“That’s not a shell, that’s just what I am.”

“Tell me, Gen, aren’t you just protecting yourself from someone who’s not here anymore?”

Frozen in place, he maintains the cool expression, “I’m not protecting myself from anything.”

Kohaku doesn’t speak up after that. Gen can’t bring himself to break the silence either.

And just like that, they part ways, too.

* * *

  


  


Mama’s touch was always a bit too cold, and dad’s never been around for Gen to figure him out, so Gen’s childhood memories consist of heavy fists, poison on Mama’s tongue and never-ending climbing up and up the popularity hill, so no one could ever get him.

There was no time for father figures. No time for friends. No time for mother and son bonding, either.

The Stone World as it stands now is a clean slate.

Gen still can’t think of it as one, though.

Old man Kaseki, though—

“Why are we making wicker baskets?” Gen complains, after finishing one.

“The village needs new ones.”

“The old ones are fine,” Gen argues, but continues weaving as Kaseki showed him. It’s not as bad as making those terrible batteries for Senkuu, but it still ranks pretty close on a ‘too much effort’ list of things.

“Just because something isn’t broken, doesn’t mean it can’t be. They’re really old by now. It doesn’t hurt to make new ones.”

Gen makes a face at that, but pushes through.

Old man Kaseki doesn’t speak much during his job and Gen appreciates it. Half of his audience back in his time were teenagers or very, very old people on the verge of going deaf. He never knew how to deal with people like Kaseki – honest, work-driven people who make it a goal to be experts in their field.

You can’t fool people like that.

Or rather, it takes a lot of effort to do so.

“At least it’s not those tewwible batteries,” Gen mumbles to himself.

“I’m very glad you’ve agreed to help me,” Kaseki suddenly says and when Gen looks over, he gapes at the amount of baskets the man already made. There must be at least ten by now. Considering that Gen made only three, it looks more like Kaseki didn’t need any help at all.

“Sure,” Gen answers, shaking his head and focusing back at the wicker, “I don’t mind.”

_I very much mind, but I’m too scared to say that, you’ve got like, muscles of a young teenager on doping, so—_

“I noticed you helping out Suika earlier,” Kaseki continues, “That’s very kind of you.”

“Ah, that’s nothing—“

“Usually, she’s brushed off in the village,” Kaseki cuts in and Gen hand stills, “Suika is very energetic, so not everyone is patient with her. I appreciate you looking after her.”

There’s definitely some blush on Gen’s face now and he tries to wave his hands, “No, really—You misunderstood, I didn’t—It’s—“

He trails off when Kaseki gives him the look. Gen slumps his shoulders, “Fine.”

Satisfied, Kaseki goes back to his work.

Gen finishes another basket and turns to make next one. The blush stubbornly stays on and he wonders when was the last time he was praised or thanked for something, excluding Suika.

He starts humming to himself, quietly.

Did his Mama ever—?

“How many of those are we even going to make, old man?” Gen asks, hands a bit numb from all the weaving, “We’ve got like,” he pauses to count, “fifteen.”

“Just the last two.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Gen picks the willow again, “I thought my hands were going to fall off.”

Old man Kaseki laughs.

* * *

  


“Hey, hey, Senkuu-chan!” Gen sing-songs, walking into the observatory, “Hey, Senkuu-chan. Senkuu-chan—“

“I think I preferred you bed-ridden with fever,” Senkuu replies dryly.

Gen nearly throws himself on the bedding – decorated with fur so it’s extra soft – and pouts, “That’s so mean, Senkuu-chan. I would never say something like this about you.”

From his place hunched over the blueprints, Senkuu sighs, “Why did you come here, anyways?”

“To bug you, of course.”

“Uh huh,” Senkuu mutters, doubtful. “So it’s not because you’re totally claiming my blanket as your own?”

Gen, halfway under the thickest, warmest blanket Senkuu owns, blinks innocently, “What gave you this idea?” At Senkuu’s deadpan glance, Gen only buries himself deeper, “I can share.”

“It’s mine.”

“So _you_ won’t share?”

Senkuu sighs, again. Gen grins to himself, “Whatever. Just stay quiet, will you?”

“I can do that,” Gen immediately says, but then seeing Senkuu focused so much on something, he quietly asks, “What are you working on?”

“If I tell you, will you actually understand?”

“Ah,” Gen grimaces, “It’s chemistry again, then.”

There’s a huff of laughter and a shake of a head. Gen watches as Senkuu stretches himself, hands up and revealing some of the skin, before the scientist is glancing at him. Gen pretends to be looking around the place, “You’re not as bad at chemistry as I thought.”

“I have most of the basics down,” Gen proudly says.

“High school knowledge, eh?”

“Actually,” Gen makes himself more comfortable, “I didn’t finish high school. I just read some of the textbooks in the library. I was bored.”

Senkuu hums, “Nice going, Mentalist.”

Silence falls upon them once again. Gen lays his head down on his arm and stares at Senkuu as he goes back to his blueprints. Then, he murmurs, “Do you even sleep, Senkuu-chan?”

“Sometimes when I sneeze, my eyes close.” Comes the straightforward answer.

Gen snorts, “Can’t you just take a break?” He pats the space next to himself, “It’s late anyways. And you end up sleeping here anyways, too. Even though you have this luxurious hut with a pretty woman in the village.”

“You think Ruri is pretty?”

“Well,” Gen muses to himself, “She’s not ugly. And she’s your wife, too.”

“I’m a divorced man,” Senkuu reminds, stone faced.

Gen blinks, “Ah right, I forgot you’re practically married to science.”

“It’s a faithful relationship,” Senkuu plays along, “But yeah. I’m not looking for romance.”

Somewhat feeling a bit disappointed, Gen sighs and closes his eyes, “If it loves you, it will wait. Just go and sleep. If you wake up early, you will get a lot more work done anyways.”

“…so you _are _sleeping over.”

Not a question, but a statement. Gen doesn’t answer for while, but when he hears Senkuu roll up the blueprints, he smiles faintly to himself, “It’s warm.”

“Warm enough for you?” comes from the far end of the room.

“It’s never warm enough,” Gen admits, “And body warmth is the best warmth, Senkuu-chan.”

“So you went from being unable to even ask for a thicker blanket to practically hogging my own.”

“I’m sharing.”

“That’s not the point, Mentalist.”

“Just for tonight,” Gen whispers and this time, Senkuu doesn’t interrupt, “You won’t even see me the morning after, Senkuu-chan.”

“Hmph, sure.” Is Senkuu’s nonchalant answer, “I don’t care. If that keeps you from getting sick like an idiot, then I’m fine with that.”

“Yeah, yeah—“

“And Chrome decided to gift you some warmer clothes, too.” Senkuu suddenly brings up and Gen’s mind halts, “He will probably done with them by tomorrow, since Kohaku and Suika are helping him.”

“That’s a bit,” he searches for a word, “a bit excessive, isn’t it?”

“You literally build me an observatory from a scratch,” Senkuu points out bluntly, “I think you’re not one to talk about excessive.”

“Everyone helped.” He protests.

A sigh, then, “I don’t see where the problem is.”

Gen wants to say that the whole thing is a problem. That he doesn’t need them to care for him like that, because Gen’s been on his own practically his own life, he doesn’t need others to be there for him. Heck, his own mother didn’t care enough for Gen to go for such lengths for him, so why would villagers from Stone World do so?

He feels Senkuu slipping under the blanket. Gen is really glad it’s king sized if not bigger.

“Just accept it as it is,” comes from his side, and Gen frowns, eyes still not opening. “And deal. Once they set their mind on something, they won’t stop.”

“Are you speaking from experience, Senkuu-chan?”

“Where do you think I got my blankets? I can’t sew like that.”

“Huh,” Gen murmurs, “Good to know.”

“Mhm.”

Outside, there are owls hooting.

And yet, Gen can’t sleep. He refrains from tossing and turning, but he’s restlessly trying to get more comfortable before he just gives up, breathes out and angrily stares at the ceiling. It’s warm, but not warm enough. He wishes he could just—

“Didn’t you say something about body warmth?” Senkuu speaks up quietly, “Are you getting shy now?”

Somewhat frustrated by the comment, Gen hisses, “You’re saying that like I’m going to come and grope you in your sleep.”

“We’re sharing a blanket and you’re chickening out. Why else would you get all bashful?”

“I’m not—“ he starts loud, before he lowers his voice, “I’m not bashful.”

“Then quit stalling and come closer. You’re the one who told me to sleep and now you’re keeping me up.”

“I was being mindful,” Gen is muttering under his breath, wriggling closer and closer to Senkuu, “of your personal space, seeing as you are not physical with anyone but science.”

There’s a huff.

“I grew up with Taiju and Yuzuriha. It’s impossible to not get used to all sorts of skin-on-skin contact, Mentalist. Up your game, I think you’re getting rusty.”

“You’re just hard to read.” Gen complains, finally close enough. His face is now in the crook of Senkuu’s arm and he presses his nose closer to Senkuu’s chest.

Moving so he’s more comfortable, Senkuu replies, “Admitting defeat?”

Stubbornly closing his eyes, Gen answers, “Never. I’ll figure you out one day.”

“Sure you will.” Senkuu agrees easily, legs intertwining with Gen’s and one arm wedging around Gen’s waist to bring him a bit closer, “Now shut up and sleep.”

Heart beating a bit too fast, not used to the contact, Gen nods slightly and tenses up for a short while, before Senkuu’s hand moves from his waist to his hair. Perhaps that’s just unconscious on his part, Senkuu’s taken liking to ruffling people’s hair lately, be it Suika or Chrome, but once his hand settles there, Gen relaxes.

It feels nice. Warm.

Welcome.

There’s no threat hanging around, or heavy fists, or the stench of alcohol. There’s just Senkuu, oversized thick fur blanket and finally, quiet mind.

And Gen thinks, just this once, that maybe he’d like to fall asleep in Senkuu’s arms all the time.

**Author's Note:**

> i researched what i could and wrote what i know, but since it's fiction and there are No Rules, let's treat it with chill and don't point out the nasty little errors that went unnoticed by me
> 
> cuz otherwise i will Cry
> 
> also this is probably very cliche and all that, but don't tell me that either, as i know for a fact, that i WILL REALLY cry


End file.
